


All the King's Men

by zarabithia



Series: Porn Sunday [13]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, M/M, Multi, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 21:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14410917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/zarabithia
Summary: Written for the prompt: "For porn whatever weekday today is: Erik pounding Steve from behind, and saying a bunch of filthy shit, while Steve is blowing T'Challa and T'Challa leans over and makes out with him to shut him up."





	All the King's Men

The problem with Steve Rogers is that Erik doesn’t understand him at all. Rogers can command all of the respect that Erik had to kill over and over again for just by walking into the room. All he has to do is flash that pretty smile, and the entire room is ready to bow before him. Even Tony Stark, the living personification of America worshiping the worst of itself, ultimately lost in the battle to see who commanded the most worship from their underlings. When the Avengers got into their little cat fight, the only ones who had stayed with Stark to the bitter end had been a fucking robot and the guy who went to college with Stark. Everyone else had gone along with Rogers, to the point where they’d chosen federal prison.

Sometimes, Erik likes to tell himself that he’d never choose a cage for anyone.

Other times, he watches Rogers crawl onto T'Challa’s bed with smooth movements that could make Bast jealous. He watches, as Rogers’ naked form crawls before T'Challa. Erik recognizes the tension wound up in those muscles, and he knows the weariness of the way that Rogers briefly rests his bearded cheek into T'Challa’s palm.

“Both of us tonight, Captain?”

“Please, Your Highness.”

Erik can’t understand that, though. Captain America has all of the power of a king himself, yet he bows so easily before T'Challa. It isn’t that Erik doesn’t understand wanting to… or eventually giving in. He has, after all, done so many times since T'Challa refused his plea to allow him death.

But Rogers doesn’t struggle with the decision at all. He pleads for the right to submit and there is no shame in his begging.

Erik doesn’t understand it, but it makes him get up out of his chair and make his way to the bed. T'Challla has already risen to his knees, and Rogers is licking at the tip of his cock, but they are waiting on him.

So peaceful, so patient, so kind.

Erik is not.

T'Challa fingers the dark blond hair that is far more unruly than it ever was in any propaganda poster that ever sat in the back of Mrs. Alden’s history class while Erik takes his time to prepare Steve. He occasionally lets loose a little gasp, but mostly, he is watching Erik.

“Judging me, my king? Not everyone takes as long as you do to prepare their toy.”

“Our guest is not a toy, N'Jadaka.”

“I don’t need much prep anyway,” Steve murmurs and he … gods honest, he kisses T'Challa’s thigh as though he is well aware of how much worship T'Challa actually deserves.

T'Challa looks down at him fondly. “I recall, Captain.”

Rogers licks along the base of T'Challa’s cock and wriggles on the bed so that his ass is on even better display for Erik.

Erik ignores T'Challa’s glares, because that’s a universal signal of “get on with it and fuck me already,” and who is Erik to tell Captain America no when he wants his ass fucked?

Rogers is not displeased. When Erik’s cock is finally buried deep into him, Rogers lets out a long sigh of contentment around T'Challa’s cock and Erik smirks as T'Challa shudders and digs his fingers deeper into Rogers’ hair.

“Who knew Captain America would be such a slut for cock?” Erik marvels.

He places his hands just above Rogers’ hips. It’s a good spot, because it allows Erik to push deeper, making the good Captain push back and moan wantonly around T'Challa’s cock. T'Challa should appreciate it, but he’s giving Erik a slight scowl.

Of course. T'Challa doesn’t like dirty talk. He thinks it’s “dishonest and a way to hide,” which is clearly bullshit.

“Is it all dick you’re a slut for, Rogers? Or just royal dick? You spreading it for Thor, too? Letting that big hammer of his throw your back out?”

“N'Jadaka.”

The crazy thing is, Rogers seems into it. Each dirty word that falls from Erik’s lips makes Rogers’ fists dig into the bed and at this point, T'Challa’s cock could not be any further down Rogers’ throat.

“He likes it, T'Challa,” Erik asserts. “Man loves letting people know he’s a big old slut. Isn’t that right, Rogers?”

Rogers gives a brief nod, or the most that he can with T'Challa’s cock down his throat. It’s enthusiastic and it’s consent, so T'Challa is wrong and that’s important.

“See? It’s 2018. Let the boy be proud of getting dicked down by all the king’s horses and all the king’s men. Probably kept it all bottled up.”

T'Challa moves fast, even faster than Rogers, so the kiss when it comes is unexpected. Erik has to lean forward to meet him in order to make any of them comfortable.

He knows it’s a way to get him to shut up, and he should protest. Part of him wants to. But T'Challa’s lips are always dangerous and taunting and powerful.

So Erik gives in to his king’s command.


End file.
